


Six Wings and Silver Blades

by cloudfree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Blades, Apocalypse world, Canon Divergence, Dom/sub Undertones, Edgeplay, Episode: s13e22 Exodus, Knifeplay, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 18:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudfree/pseuds/cloudfree
Summary: The thought of Cas ganking his weird Nazi-alt-self shouldn’t be so appealing to Dean, but it is and now he’s stupidly aroused and Dean is so, so fucked.I wasn’t satisfied with canon, and I needed an excuse for them to have at it. So here you go :)





	Six Wings and Silver Blades

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I’ve been lurking on this site for a long time and I finally brought up the nerve to actually post something myself, so here it is! I hope it’s to your liking!

They’ve just finished saving alt-Charlie and that asshole Ketch when Dean realizes that Cas is no longer following him. Sawed-off shotgun at the ready, he creeps back into the shack they went in and crouches low, whispering for Cas to get his (not-so) feathery ass over here before Michael’s reinforcements arrive.

 

What he finds surprises him. Cas is standing there like an attack dog, back facing Dean, with his angel blade out and ready at the throat of the Other Castiel, pinning him against the wall. Cas is snarling something Dean can’t quite hear into his ear, so he inches a bit closer until he can, gun still pointed at the two in case everything goes to shit, which happens a fucking _lot_ nowadays.

 

“You align yourself with these… these humans?” the other angel bites, good eye flaring, and _is that a german accent?_ Dean can’t see his face from this angle, but he notices Cas tense, sees his body go rigid for a moment.

 

“I vastly,” Castiel growls, steadying his grip on the blade, “prefer them to angels.” Dean stays quiet, but his mind supplies a little cheer. _Go Cas!_ Just shows how far he’s come with the whole loving humanity thing. Even if it has screwed him over. _Multiple times_ , Dean’s traitorous mind says, but he pushes the thought away.

 

Nazi Castiel smirks despite himself. “Don’t - Don’t think that you are better than me,” he drawls smugly, mouth twitching as it tries to articulate each syllable. His lips curve in a shaky grin. “W-we are the same.”

 

The tip of Cas’ blade draws down his neck, around the curve of his Adam’s apple and comes to rest at his abdomen as Castiel readies himself to strike. He’s casual, almost sensual in the way he does it, and Dean is forced to bite back a groan. Other Castiel flinches imperceptibly, opening his mouth to speak again, but Cas beats him to it.

 

“Yes,” Castiel says simply, “We are.” And then he’s pushing the blade into his counterpart’s chest as far as he possibly can, watching dispassionately as Nazi Cas’ eyes burst with blue light as he lets out a guttural scream and then slumps over in an unceremonious heap.

 

It’s a little disconcerting to see Cas dead again, even if it isn’t his Cas, per se, but still disconcerting nonetheless, Dean thinks, then hastily amends the thought with _he’s not really my Cas either, it’s just that he’s from my universe and it’s easier to think of him that way and where was I going with this again_ after realizing he’s just called Castiel his.

 

There’s another problem too, because now all he can think about is the way Castiel pinned the other Cas against the wall like that, how fucking _Alpha_ Cas looked as he thrust his weapon into his doppelganger’s body, and Dean is reminded of how he had yet again chosen Dean, chosen _the humans_ over his own species. It’s all too much, and the whole thing has caused his downstairs brain to start working on overdrive. _Dammit, this is not the time,_ he scolds it, but the arousal remains a niggling pressure in his gut.

 

Stepping aside the now glassy-eyed, empty vessel and gracefully over the crackling embers of its wing imprints, Castiel turns, still tense like he’s heard something. Dean forgets he’s even standing there until he notices the angel glancing at him.

 

Cas relaxes. “Oh, it’s you, Dean.”

 

Dean forces himself to speak, and when he does it comes out hoarse and a little high pitched. “Y-yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, Cas.”

 

The angel watches him curiously, head slightly canted to the left. “Is everything alright?”

 

“Oh, everything’s j-just fine!” Dean exclaims, discreetly lowering his gun as he tries to cover up the huge, painfully obvious tent in his jeans. Castiel follows the movement with his eyes, but says nothing about it and Dean inwardly sighs in relief. _Maybe he hasn’t noticed._

 

“We should, uh, get going. Sammy and the others are waiting.” He says shakily as he turns away from Castiel, deliberately angling his body away from his friend as he tries to saunter out of the shack with as much dignity as he can muster. He hears Castiel follow, and the walk back to camp is awkwardly silent.

 

 

..~*~..

 

 

Castiel doesn’t actively seek him out until they’re past the rift and back home safe in their own universe. And it’s not like Dean’s wanted him to, either. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he’s been avoiding Cas. He can’t look at the guy without remembering what happened back in Apocalypse world. Can’t think of what Cas would say if he found out why Dean had been acting so weird in front of him that day.

 

Because this thing, this twinge of arousal he had felt watching Cas _murder_ his alter ego, it comes back with full force whenever he’s even around the angel. It sounds so fucked up when he thinks about it, but he’s left spectacularly hard and breathless when his thoughts wander to what Cas could be doing to _him_ with that angel blade.

 

Damn it. He’s ruined.

 

He’s in his room, polishing his gun when the door creaks open. Blue eyes peer at him from around the doorframe and he pauses.

 

“Need something, Cas?” he asks, keeping his voice casual, although his heart thrums within his chest.

 

“Yes.” Castiel steps into the room, closing the distance between them with two quick strides. Dean’s breath hitches. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says earnestly. And Dean’s gonna have a word with Sam because the puppy eyes he’s getting right now could make a steel beam melt and damn if his brother hasn’t been teaching their angel a few things.

 

“That obvious, huh.” Dean says sarcastically, and Cas deflates a little.

 

“Tell me what I did wrong, Dean,” he pleads, placing his hand on Dean’s left shoulder. The angel-hickey Cas left in the form of a handprint has long since disappeared, but he feels something nonetheless, a sudden, spine-tingling heat which shoots straight into his dick. He hisses quietly, and Cas pulls away like _he’s_ the one who’s been burned.

 

“I should go.” he says, avoiding Dean’s eyes, and Dean really shouldn’t stop him, should let him go so they can both once again avoid this thing which they’ve been dancing so precariously around for years, _decades_ even.

 

But he does, grabbing Castiel’s arm before he can hoist himself up off the bed. “Cas, wait,” Dean sighs, waiting until Cas comes down to sit next to him again. The angel obeys, a question in his eyes.

 

It’s hard to put what he’s feeling to words, and it’s even harder to express them, but then again he’s never been good with feelings anyway so bite him. “I just - I - ah… It’s just that you - when you… y’know… angel blade…the other you, y’know… aagh…” Dean flounders, waving his hands in the air in a cheap imitation of the fight in the shack.

 

Bewildered, Cas gapes at him. “I...I don’t…” His eyes trail down Dean’s body in bemused appraisal until he reaches the part of him that’s now perked up in interest once more. His eyes widen in understanding.

 

“You...you saw me kill myself, in the other universe.” Cas says. Dean looks at him for a long moment, then nods hesitantly. He’s suddenly at a loss for words.

 

“And you were...aroused.” Cas states.

 

“Well, no shit, Sherlock,” Dean retorts, then snaps his mouth shut. Cas regards him warily, but doesn’t seem too bothered by the fact that Dean has a murder kink or something. Instead, he wets his lips. A slow grin stretches across his face, revealing shining teeth and gum. It’s hot, and dangerous, and Dean is _so_ doomed.

 

“So you mean to tell me,” he croons, leaning forward slowly and taking the gun out of the hunter’s hands and placing it aside on the nightstand, “that you liked seeing me pin myself against the wall? That you liked it when I _thrust_ ,” he punctuates this by grabbing hold of the back of Dean’s head, burying his fingers into his hair, and pulling him closer so their foreheads are nearly touching, “my sword into his body?

 

Dean’s so surprised he forgets to speak, and all that comes out of his mouth is a whimper. His traitorous dick twitches in interest.

 

“Did it turn you on? Are you aroused, Dean Winchester?” Cas murmurs roughly, flicking his eyes up to meet Dean’s own. They’re so pretty, Dean thinks. And bright. _And currently blown wide with lust_ , he notes with a twinge of satisfaction.

 

A cold steel tip to the spot just under his jawline makes him start violently, but Castiel’s holding him back so he can’t move out of the way. Tugs his hair gently, and Dean’s suddenly looking up at the ceiling while his best friend’s got an angel blade at his throat.

 

“Uh, Cas?” Dean asks nervously, but the angel shushes him by scratching a thin line down the length of his neck. It makes his breath hitch again and come out in puffs, and he nearly moans again when Cas puts the very tip of the blade in his mouth and _sucks_ , wet lips pursing as they close around it.

 

“Quiet, Dean.” He pulls off with a wet pop, and Dean is tempted to kiss the smirk off his face. Cas looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, the lashes thick and full. “You know, I didn’t know you could be so depraved.”

 

Dean flinches backward, but Castiel is still holding him in place. “Cas, I think-“

 

The angel smiles. “Oh, I’m not bothered, Dean. In fact, I’m flattered.

 

“The Righteous Man, who possesses the purest soul in all of creation, the true Sword of Michael, falls at the sight of his savior and charge murdering his extradimensional self in cold blood,” Cas says in a sultry tone.

 

Dean pales. “Cas, it’s not like that-“

 

“Oh, I know what it’s like,” Cas wets his lips, “and I think you need a bit of...reconditioning, in this regard.”

 

“Yeah?” Dean asks nervously, licking his own.

 

Cas nods in affirmation. “You know what I think, Dean? I think you’re frustrated,” he murmurs casually, bringing the angel blade to Dean’s cheek, pressing into the skin gently. For a blinding moment, Dean thinks he’ll slash him open, right down to the bone, and finds that he wouldn’t mind it all too much if Cas decided to do just that. But the angel just holds it there, grip firm and blade tip digging into the meat of his cheek.

 

“God, Cas, you don’t know,” Dean stammers desperately, but Cas silences him with a glare. The bastard is so dominant when he wants to be.

 

“Do not interrupt me.” Cas growls. Dean falls silent.

 

“I think what you really need,” he continues, eyes darkening even further, “is for someone to fuck the frustration out of you.”

 

And damn, if that’s not the most arousing thing he’s heard today, Dean thinks, shifting uncomfortably. His jeans are the tightest they’ve ever been, ever since Rhonda Hurley and that one night they spent with the pink satiny panties.

 

Now that he thinks of it, this could come in as a close second.

 

“And who better,” Cas hums, “to take up the arduous task of bringing you to orgasm,” he twists the knife into Dean’s skin, drawing a thin bead of blood from the indent he makes, “than me?”

 

Dean looks at him. Like, _really_ looks at him. Castiel’s pupils are so dilated his eyes are coal black and he’s breathing heavily, like he’s run a marathon. His deep blue eyes peruse Dean’s, looking into them and reading them for all he’s worth, and Dean balks, feeling naked and open under his scrutiny. He can see the promise etched into Cas’ face, can see the desire so vividly present there, and it scares him.

 

 _Fuck it_ , Dean thinks, and kisses him.

 

Their lips slot together; at first, Cas’ eyes widen almost comically, but then he’s quickly taking the lead and pulling them so they’re lying down face to face on the bed. The angel blade lays at the foot of the bed, forgotten as Castiel ravages Dean’s mouth with his own, sucking on his bottom lip and nipping at the corner where neck meets jawline while his hands work to relieve them of their clothes. Nimble fingers work to unbutton his flannel shirt and his jeans are unfastened and discarded.

 

They’re both in their boxers now, hands roaming and lips kissing wherever they can reach. Cas licks Dean’s lips open and gently but insistently probes the inside of his mouth; Dean recoils briefly at the intrusion but then allows him in.

 

“Cas…” Dean whines as Castiel sucks a bruise into the side of his neck. He’s being so gentle, and slow, but Dean can’t do either of those things right now. He bucks up insistently into Cas’ hips, and feels the hardness there mirroring his own. Cas stills him with a hand.

 

“Patience, Dean,” he says, not unkindly, “I know what you want, and I will give it to you. But you must wait.”

 

The weight pinning him against the mattress is briefly lifted as Castiel goes, presumably to retrieve the angel blade he had thrown aside before. Dean watches him with half-lidded eyes, watches as the sharp ridge of his spine makes itself apparent, jutting out as he bends over to retrieve the item.

 

He hears Cas moving around and rummaging through something and impatience overtakes him. He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it when he sees Cas stand up, a hard set to his jaw and nothing to betray the stoic expression on his face but the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

 

He’d stripped his boxers off, and his erection stands proud and at the ready. It’s pretty, just like the rest of Cas, and veined with a slightly purpling tip, a swath of curly hair wreathed at the base. Dean takes the opportunity to gaze lustfully at Castiel’s body, marveling at the tanned skin over lean muscle and the five o’clock shadow cast on his handsome face. He shucks his own boxers and waits, mindlessly palming his own length.

 

Castiel crawls back on top of Dean, this time with the angel blade drawing across the wide expanse of his chest, tracing his nipple with its tip and scratching the skin around it. It makes Dean shudder and sigh, but the angel is undeterred, continuing his ministrations.

 

“Cas,” Dean grits out, as Castiel sets to the task of delicately tracing each and every one of the freckles which mottle his pectorals, “Can we get moving, please?”

 

Castiel smiles that wicked gummy smile of his again, “When I told you to _wait,_ did I stutter?” The sound of a bottle being uncapped breaks the low hum of the room, and Dean stifles a gasp as Cas takes his entire length into his mouth _in one go_.

 

Cas sucks hard and fast, head bobbing wildly, his tongue lapping at the slit to get at the salty beads of precum that have pooled at the tip of Dean’s cock. He lines butterfly kisses at the underside and his teeth just barely scrape against Dean’s skin, making it impossibly hotter still. Dean’s so blissed out from the blowjob that he forgets to be surprised at the intrusion of a warm, lube-slicked finger probing at his entrance.

 

It circles his perineum, and then his hole, and Cas pauses for a moment to look up at him, hot breaths tickling the hairs at Dean’s base. “Is this okay?” He asks, eyes furrowed in concern and voice even deeper and gravelly than it usually is. And Dean wants to weep, because while he really appreciates Castiel’s desire to get consent issues out of the way, really, he does, he’s leaking all over them now and moaning like a bitch and all he wants right now is to feel Castiel within him, to bring him home, where he really belongs.

 

He manages a shaky nod and a grin. “Y-yeah, Cas. Yeah. Do your thing.”

 

The finger breaches his entrance as Cas goes down on him again, and Dean’s back arches. Son of a bitch, it stings, but he welcomes it as it moves in and out of him in a pleasurable motion.

 

One finger becomes two, then three, scissoring and pulling and stretching and so deliciously wet. Castiel eventually finds his prostate, and when he brushes it, it makes Dean arch and gasp even more as the blinding white flash of pleasure overtakes him.

 

“Cas-!” Dean yells, and Castiel withdraws his fingers. They catch on his rim and leave him feeling empty, but Cas is quick to return to him, the intense warmth making both of them shudder.

 

“Yes, Dean.” Cas’ hands are firm as he grips Dean’s hips, aligning his lubed-up cock with Dean’s hole. “You’ve been so good for me, so patient.” Dean tries not to laugh, because he’s been neither of these things and he’s one stroke away from coming all over the both of them, but he does anyway and it comes out a hysterical half-groan.

 

“Come on, Cas, enough talk.” He grins weakly. “Now fuck me, you bastard.”

 

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him, but he complies, thank god, pushing in slowly, inch by burning inch until he’s bottomed out and balls deep. Dean loves this feeling, of fullness and security and the heat. He’s never been so satisfied before, and he realizes, with a twinge of sadness, that if this is the one and only time they meet like this, he may never be again.

 

Cas stops and looks at Dean, searching his face for discomfort or dissent. “Is this okay, Dean?” He asks again, and Dean’s never loved him more than in this moment.

 

He shifts, shallowly fucking back on Cas’ cock and making him groan quietly. “Do I look like I want you to stop?”

 

Castiel kisses the shell of his ear in response and begins to move.

 

He pulls out slowly, then fucks in even slower. His pace is slow, torturous; while the other men Dean have been with were fast, sloppy even, Cas takes his sweet fucking time, gradually increasing his pace until he’s slamming into Dean so hard that his jaw quivers and his body jerks.

 

He makes sure to hit that sweet spot within his ass _every single time_ , and were it not for the way Castiel is gripping the base of his cock, preventing him from coming, Dean would have thrown in the towel a long time ago.

 

Pleasure mingles with pain and Dean mewls with contentment as Cas thrusts into him harder still. “You like that, don’t you?” Cas mock-asks, nosing at the taut line of his neck. Dean finds himself unable to say anything other than the endless litany of _CasCasCas_ that’s coming out of his mouth and can only throw his head back and take what he’s being given. The vice grip Castiel has on his hip is going to leave bruises on him for tomorrow but he finds that he doesn’t care anymore, just wants to be allowed to come because tears are pricking at his eyes and god he wants to let loose but he can’t.

 

“Cas, please…” Dean begs, but the angel ignores him in favor of chasing his own orgasm, pulling out all the way and then slamming into him one final, devastating time with a groan. A hot pulse of come splashes Dean’s insides and he shudders.

 

Castiel’s softening cock slips out of Dean’s ass and he gets up again, leaving Dean cold and alone on the mattress. Dean stifles a sob. His dick leans against his abs, hard, unattended, and purpling, a thin dribble of semen pooling at the dip of his belly. He moves to take care of it, closing his fist around its length, but Cas stops him, his voice sounding distant and stern.

 

“Did I tell you that you could come?” He demands, and Dean reluctantly lets go of his dick. _God damn_ , it hurts, and Cas better hurry the fuck up and get over here or Dean’s gonna disobey and jerk himself off.

 

A cool hand covers his eyes; everything darkens suddenly and Dean starts, but Cas shushes him gently. Dean feels his hot breath at his ear. “Do you trust me?”

 

“What are you gonna do to me?” Dean’s breath is uneven and ragged, and his voice is shaky, but Castiel doesn’t seem to notice.

 

The hand over his eyes lifts and he’s staring into the angel’s blue, blue eyes. “I promise you, Dean. I could never hurt you. No harm will come to you when you’re with me.”

 

“Now, do you trust me?” He asks, sounding businesslike. And what else can Dean do but nod, because if it’s gonna get him off and finally let him come (which he’s gonna do harder than he’s ever done in his life, and that’s saying something), then why the fuck not?

 

No sooner than he agrees does he feel a chilly hardness entering him, twisting and pulling, in and out. He cries out in surprise, eyes still obscured. “Cas, what the fuck?”

 

Cas doesn’t answer, and the answer comes to Dean suddenly in a blinding flash of realization. _Castiel is fucking him with the angel blade._

 

The cum and heat inside him warms the hilt even more as it moves. Gotta hand it to Cas, he learns quick, because apparently he hadn’t forgotten where Dean’s prostate was judging by the way he’s nailing it every single time with scary accuracy.

 

He spreads his legs even more and moans, loving the way Cas is ruthless and efficient with him, the way he fucks the hilt of the angel blade into Dean’s awaiting, receptive asshole.

 

Cas’ breathing is just as ragged as his, and he wishes he would take his hand off his face so Dean could see him in all of his glory, in the way his mouth parts in pleasure and the way he throws his head back and moans, blue eyes flashing with power and lust.

 

A few more thrusts and he can’t take it anymore, teeth grinding as he struggles to hold it in. “Cas, baby, I’m gonna...I don’t think I can…”

 

And he hears Cas smile somehow, hears his mouth spread wide as he commands him. “Come for me, Dean.”

 

That throws him over the edge, and with a strangled cry he’s spilling all over them, rivulets of cum dripping onto the mattress and around the defined ridges of his abs.

 

The hand over his eyes lifts and light comes to the world again. Dean tries not to dwell on the fact that he’s just come untouched while being fucked on the hilt of an angel blade, because damn, that’s not something he expected to happen to him, like, ever. So he puts that thought aside and busies himself with carding his hands in Castiel’s hair as the angel idly kisses his face, his lips, his eyelids.

 

“Did you like that?” Cas sounds hesitant, shy almost. His voice is an octave deeper than normal, sounding thoroughly wrecked.

 

“I did,” Dean says quietly.

 

They hold each other in the silence of the room, just lying there, basking in each other’s warmth.

 

“Cas-“

 

“Dean-“

 

Dean laughs. “No, you go first,” he says.

 

Cas smiles at him, interlacing their fingers. “Dean,” he murmurs, eyes sad, “What happens next?”

 

Dean wants to ask what he means, but he knows deep down exactly what Castiel is insinuating. The world is going to shit around them, they’ve got two insane archangels loose in the universe who are hellbent upon destroying it, and there’s no chance they’ll come back from any of this. Yet Dean doesn’t want to walk away.

 

Castiel has been with them - him and Sammy - since the beginning, ever since the breaking of the first seal. He pulled Dean out of hell, for Christ’s sake. He’s looked at the Winchesters, looked at Dean with nothing but love, and forgiveness, and adoration. And hell if he doesn’t deserve the same affection in return.

 

He kind of regrets not doing it sooner. They’ve had so many opportunities to get together, so many missed confessions, so much love between the two of him. It’s kind of ironic that it took Cas technically killing himself for Dean to get his shit together, but better late than never, right?

 

Dean kisses him. “Wherever we go, sweetheart, we’ll go together.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Was it worth the read? I’m planning on a multi-chapter fic sometime, so keep an eye out! Be sure to comment and kudos if you liked it! Until next time :))


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